


Little Tsaritsa

by CultOfStrawberry



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CultOfStrawberry/pseuds/CultOfStrawberry
Summary: Nadezhda Ivaonov, a young, hard-working Russian-American woman, is the object of desire of a powerful man





	Little Tsaritsa

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work intended for mature audiences.

Little Tsaritsa

I

o0o

Nadezhda Ivanov huffed softly to herself as she bustled around the restaurant, making sure that the diners in her section were comfortable before going back into the kitchen to check on the potato soup. Her cousins were goofing off again, Ludmilla lingering at a table flirting with an attractive patron while Mikhail texted his friends.  
“Mikhail, the soup almost boiled over!" she hissed angrily at Mikhail as she waved her hand over his smartphone, and he glanced up at her with half-lidded eyes and an annoyed smirk. He was five years older than her and should have been a more responsible worker, but it seemed like he'd never moved beyond his teenage years.  
She fired off several phrases in a mixture of Russian and English to the staff before grabbing Mikhail's phone and pointedly placed it away on the shelf in the alcove that served as the break-room.  
“Hey, you can't do that-” he protested.  
“You think you're going to run this restaurant when you can't even keep an eye on the soup?” she snapped peevishly. “I'm not going to have Uncle Boris yell at me over it!” Boris Ivanov was a decent restaurant owner, and Little Russka was a popular spot in the neighborhood, but he gave his own children more lassitude than his niece. It'd always been that way, but recently, she'd been taking more initiative and standing up for herself.  
Of course, being of legal age helped. Still, her options were limited due to events beyond her control and that was why she was here, cleaning up after her cousins, and doing various jobs around the restaurant for her uncle. She'd been here since she was sixteen, not long before her mother's death, working as a waitress and saving every bit of it she could for college.  
As a minor, she'd had to open a joint account with her father. His wife's death hit him hard, and he turned to alcoholism, and in time, gambling, as an escape from his sorrows. Money had already been tight because of medical bills that Mom's insurance company had refused to cover, and Gregory Ivanov had cleaned out most of his daughter's savings to gamble with, believing he could win the money he'd already lost.  
The results were predictable. But Nadezhda hadn't learned of it until just after her eighteenth birthday when she'd gone to change the account. Several weeks later, Gregory had died of a heart attack, and his debt had eaten away entirely what money could have been used for funeral or emergency expenses.  
At a time where she should have been ready to go out in the world, Nadezhda Ivanov was virtually penniless. Not only that, but her father had owed Uncle Boris some money as well. Boris was willing to forgive the debt, but he constantly reminded Nadezhda of his 'generosity' and expected her loyalty and obedience, which included taking on more duties at the restaurant, with a less than modest increase of pay. Her aunt nagged her about her clothing and hair, and her cousins would shrug off their chores on her, and if Nadezhda complained, Boris would scold her for being 'ungrateful'.  
Her feet ached, and she couldn't wait to get the fuck home and put her feet up. Her uncle and aunt had offered to let her live with them after her father's house had been taken by the debt collectors, but she could see how that would make her life hell and lived in a tiny studio apartment. It might be tiny, but it was hers.  
After glancing at the orders in the queue, she ladled soup into several bowls and made up a couple salads before loading them on a tray and delivering them to a table. The menu was authentically Russian, with just a few modifications to make it slightly more accessible to an American audience. She was a good cook, and it was her favorite part of the job – at least when things were going smoothly. There were times when she wondered if she should open her own restaurant, but seeing what Uncle Boris dealt with made her hesitant. She just wanted to cook, that was all. Or at the very least, not deal with a family who saw her as nothing more than an orphan, a beggar who owed them everything for their generosity, a person who should be happy to be their slave for the scraps they tossed her.  
One day, one day, she promised herself as she lifted her chin, smiling at her customers. As she turned away from them, she blinked as she noticed a familiar figure move through the vestibule that opened into the establishment. Tall and broad-shouldered, with thick blonde hair that hinted at a Teutonic ancestry somewhere in his bloodline, Arkady Suvorin was a powerful figure – figuratively and literally – and a familiar face at Little Russka.  
Although she did not know for sure, Nadezhda suspected that he and his friends were involved in the mob. Of course, it wasn't as if she couldn't just ask them outright, but at the very least, they tipped well. And unlike Ludmilla, she spoke Russian almost as well as she did English, which was something they seemed to be big fans of. This time though, Mr. Suvorin was alone. He looked her way, and their eyes met.  
She swallowed thickly before pulling on a calm expression and moved forward. As was the norm, Arkady was dressed in a suit, looking ready for a board meeting or the courtroom. His suit was a dark gray, only a few shades lighter than black, and his tie was solid black. The shirt he wore was a deep red and made for a striking visual effect against his blonde hair and dark suit.  
“Good evening, Mr. Suvorin. Are you waiting for friends?” she asked politely in Russian as he slid his jacket off.  
“Not this time, Nadezhda. So I would like a quiet place to sit.”  
“Certainly.” She moved quickly, leading him to one of several alcoves to one side of Little Russka, sliding a menu to the table before asking him if he wanted something to drink.  
“I believe for the time being that you can start me off with some water,” he replied in a casual tone, but his eyes fixed on hers, and she could not look away. A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, and she quickly turned from him to get his water, feeling her pulse racing.  
She hated him or knew she should. He had made no secret of his desire to her, a desire that had remained unfulfilled for the past several years. She'd been sixteen and waitressing when Arkady had come in with two of his friends. Back then, at least she'd been a minor and he seemed unwilling to disobey that law, at least, but once she'd become eighteen, he had asked her out several times.  
Her answer every time was no. He fascinated her yet at the same time she was certain that it was nothing more than a moth to the flame. He was handsome, powerful, and of more than modest means. He was not flashy about his wealth, but his attitude spoke of a man who was confident in his holdings. She knew that she could be a sugar baby if she was willing to accommodate him, but she had her dignity. 

o0o

Arkady Alexyevich Suvorin sat back as he watched her walk away. He'd never forget the first time he saw her, at the tender age of sixteen, flustered as she dashed from table to table on a busy night, taking orders and doing the best she could at waitressing. He'd come here with his boss and a couple of friends upon the recommendation of another friend of theirs. The food here was tasty and authentic, and Boris knew how to treat certain customers. Stereotypical as it could be, this place had become to Arkady and his peers what the Italian restaurant in the Godfather had done for the mobsters. It was a place to enjoy good food, surrounded by Russian culture, and enjoy American hospitality.  
That was the nice thing about America. Poor Russians like Boris and his brother had found opportunity here, and the elder brother had made the most of his opportunity, opening a restaurant that had been greatly welcome to the local Russian-American community. Not so much his younger brother, whom Arkady had come to learn was Nadezhda's father.  
Arkady could do so much for Nadezhda… if she would allow him. He often made sure he was seated in her section, so she would need to wait on him, since it was often the only opportunity she would afford him to speak with her. And the food she prepared – delicious. A proper wife should know how to cook, after all. He relished the thought of her serving him a nice supper at home – or breakfast. His lips curved upward at that thought before she returned to the table with water and a small basket of herb bread.  
“Are you sure you don't want something stronger to drink tonight, Mr. Suvorin?" Nadezhda asked politely. He looked up at her, seeing the several loose strands of dark hair that had escaped her bun to frame her heart-shaped face.  
“To be frank, I am not particularly in the mood for a drink tonight as I have much on my mind, but I am hungry.” He quickly glanced over the menu, familiar with the dishes of Little Russka. “I believe I will start with borscht. With all the trimmings, of course.”  
“Of course," Nadezhda replied politely as she started writing on her pad.  
“What is tonight's special?”  
“Stroganoff.”  
“I will have that, as long as you're the one to prepare it.”  
Their eyes met for a moment before she wrote his request.  
“Have you prepared any of the desserts tonight? Though nothing here is as sweet as you.”  
“Honey cake is the dessert special and yes, I made it." Her tone was even and professional, showing no delight at his praise. Though she wore the modest black pants that many restaurant workers wore, her blouse had embroidery along the sleeves as one would find on traditional Russian clothing.  
“Then I will have that, at the end of dinner. How are you?” he asked, shifting to small talk after his order had been placed.  
“I am fine. I'm going to take care of your food now.” With that, she retreated from the table, and he rested his chin on his hands. He'd been tempted to order a shot – or two, or three – of vodka, but tonight he wanted to be absolutely clear-minded, given his nervousness.  
He closed his eyes for several minutes, pondering his options.  
“Good evening, Mr. Suvorin! It's always a pleasure to see you!" he heard a familiar but not welcome voice. He opened his eyes to see Ludmilla, Nadezhda's cousin. The young woman was what many men imagined when the phrase 'hot Russian babe' was mentioned. Ludmilla was blond and leggy, and there were enough men who did want to bang her, but Arkady personally found her distasteful. In a cruel twist of fate, out of the cousins, it was Ludmilla who wanted him. She'd made that clear enough in the past but was always rebuffed.  
Love was a cruel mistress, Arkady mused. “Good evening, Miss Ivanov,” he replied in the same English she had used to greet him. That was another thing he liked about Nadezhda. Despite being born and raised in America, her Russian was nearly flawless. Ludmilla on the other hand, eh. Like so many American children, she disdained her ancestors' heritage, and her work ethic was… well, it wasn't bad. But there was plenty of room for improvement. She did just enough work so that she could go have fun with friends and do frivolous things while Nadezhda strove to make better of herself.  
“I already have a waitress, but thank you for your concern,” Arkady said as he took a sip of water.  
“I see you don't have a drink. Would you like a shot or two of our top-shelf liquor? On the house of course, for one of our best customers!”  
Fuck's sake, he thought wearily. "I'm good, thank you," he said in a firm voice. Her smile faltered a bit, but she had enough sense to retreat from the table and not a moment too soon since Nadezhda was quick in appearing with a bowl of borscht.  
She set the aromatic soup in front of him, and he reached out to gently grasp her wrist. She stiffened, and he felt her try to pull away.  
“Nadezhda, I would like to speak with you after my meal."  
“I… have to study,” she said quickly.  
“Your diligence is to be commended, but all work and no play makes for a dull life, no?” He'd slid right back into Russian as soon as she approached him. Many considered Russian a harsh-sounding language, but he pitched his voice, giving the words a slight purr.  
“Mr. Suvorin…”  
“I have told you in the past, to call me Arkady. It would please me greatly.”  
“I am here to feed you, not please you,” she replied in a hiss. He smirked and let her go.  
Borscht, the much-loved Russian and Eastern European recipe, was a popular dish here at Little Russka, and could be eaten by itself or as an accompaniment to more courses. Given its versatility, Nadezhda had experimented for several months before coming up with a savory recipe that her uncle had begrudgingly incorporated into the restaurant's menu.  
Beetroot, onions, carrots, and potatoes floated in a thick red broth, the most identifying feature of the most familiar borscht version. Sitting atop the stew was a fat dollop of sour cream, and at the side were a dozen uski, little dumplings filled with minced meat and mushrooms. He leaned over slightly, inhaling the scent of the soup and dipping his spoon to take some broth. The unique color of the soup came from the beets, making it an easily recognizable dish.  
He sipped the flavorful broth, feeling the warmth slide down his throat. His meal went by in an unhurried manner as he savored the course, letting Nadezhda alone when she brought him the stroganoff. He thanked her graciously when she took the dishes for the soup, and he dipped a piece of bread into the sauce on the stroganoff. Many American versions of this dish put the stroganoff on top of rice or pasta, but here it was served as it was made, pieces of beef under a thick sauce of onions, mustard, and mushrooms, and topped with another dollop of sour cream, with several crisp potato pieces on the side.  
“How is your meal? Is everything to your satisfaction?” he heard Ludmilla ask. He looked up with a tight smile and nodded.  
“Yes. Everything is fine. There is absolutely nothing you need to do,” he replied. He stared into her eyes, and she turned away.  
The dessert came along on a little plate, with several blueberries on top. Medovik, or honey cake was another thing that Nadezhda excelled at, and she had made several this morning for tonight, giving the sweet filling ample time to get absorbed into the eight layers of cake.  
“You could open your own bakery. People would be lining around the block for these,” Arkady commented as he lowered his fork to the cake. He was gratified to see a smile flicker across her face before she demurred.  
“You are too kind, Mr. Suvorin. Please enjoy your dessert.” With that, she bowed out to attend another table. He lifted the fork to his mouth, letting the sweet treat melt on his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ludmilla hovering near for several moments before she flitted away to greet a couple of newcomers.  
What would Nadezhda be like in bed? Would she be sweet and shy, needing the coaxing of a patient lover? Or once she was roused, was she a tigress? How would it be to have her writhing under him as he pounded into her, spending some of his pent-up desire, her legs wrapped around his middle? Or on top of him as he laid back, her hips gyrating on his cock, her chocolate-brown hair whipping around her angelic face, eyes ablaze with passion for only him.  
How many times had he fantasized about her in the shower, only to touch himself under the cascade of water, or under the sheets, or sprawled on his sofa? Just the thought of her could get him hard almost too quickly. He looked up, feeling an ache in his groin as their eyes met, icy blue meeting warm hazel as she approached him with the bill. She set the small leather folder on the table as she started to take his empty plate.  
“Could I have some coffee?” he asked. She paused and nodded. He smiled. He would tip her generously.

o0o

After Nadezhda brought him coffee, she returned to the kitchen. God, Arkady Suvorin was a prime physical example of a male, and for a moment, she wondered how it would feel to have that thick blond hair in her grip. It fell several inches past his shoulder, framing strong features that would have made him a fine king, mighty warrior, or even a god, had he been cast in a movie. She could swear she felt her wrist still tingling from the physical contact she had with him.  
She'd been just sixteen when she'd first seen him. Ludmilla had gone cross-eyed over him, and this love triangle had been going on for three years now. With a low huff, she decided to duck outside for a quick break, as the dinner rush had slowed down, most people having moved on to dessert or drink.  
Striding through the kitchen, she came around the back and stepped outside, her breath misting slightly in the crisp air as she leaned her head back against the wall. Pulling her smartphone out, she skimmed through her messages, looking for any that were related to her schooling. Midterms were coming up, and even though she was just a part-time student, she was still learning to juggle work and education, especially with her limited funds. She'd been able to get a couple of small scholarships, but nothing major, and nowhere near enough to go full-time. It was at these times that she really hated her father and the way he'd royally screwed her over.

o0o

Arkady quickly paid at the counter, giving Ludmilla just enough for the meal itself. He would personally hand the tip to Nadezhda, and it gave him the perfect excuse to seek her out. He had a good idea where she would be, given that he or one of his friends had had discussions with Boris there from time to time.  
His expectations were met as he quickly slid through the kitchen and past the coats hanging near the back door. Nadezhda's face was illuminated by the screen of her phone, and he paused for several moments to admire her. His eyes lingered on her face before moving down her jaw, and to the bit of flesh he saw between the folds of her coat and blouse. His fingers itched to part that cloth and take these breasts in his calloused palms. He would flick his tongue across her nipples and suck on them until they were hard, and reach between her legs to an even more private place…  
His mouth watered at the thought, and his attention returned to her face as a wind blew a strand of hair into her face. Without thinking, he reached out to brush it aside, tucking it behind her ear. A soft gasp met his ears as her eyes flashed up at him.  
Arkady stepped forward and plucked the phone from her hand and slid it into his pocket. As her brow furrowed in protest, he pinned her to the wall, looking down at her as he rested one of his hands on the cool brick near her head.  
“Arkady!” she finally hissed. He lowered his head to brush his lips against her cheek before moving down to her jaw. She smelled faintly of different things – cooking, sweat, deodorant, and a touch of perfume. He kept his face buried against the side of her neck, savoring her presence, and how her body felt against his.  
"Damn you, Arkady. Give me my phone back, or I will scream." As she shifted her body against him, his cock stirred as she inadvertently pressed it with her lower stomach. "This... this is an employee-only area!" she managed to protest weakly, batting at his head. She continued to twist around, only adding to the delicious friction between their bodies. Gods, she had to know what she was doing to him as his manhood stirred further.  
“I think from the amount of patronage that I and my men give this restaurant, I have earned a bit of leeway. And I touched nothing in the kitchen, so no one can accuse me of violating the health code," he chuckled.  
However, he stepped back, giving her some space. "Nadezhda, I want to have a serious discussion with you. I'm not going to hurt you. I never would hurt you."  
She was silent for several moments, staring down at the ground before she lifted her chin, making eye contact.  
“All I ask is for a cup of coffee. And the pleasure of your company.”  
He did not miss the unspoken questions.  
“No, not here. Perhaps a Starbucks?”  
“You? At a Starbucks?" Nadezhda asked incredulously.  
“I love Russian cuisine as much as I love Mother Russia, but the Starbucks mermaid does have her charms,” he commented dryly, hoping some humor might help her relax.  
She stared at him before she muttered several choice words in Russian, and he grinned.  
“Nice Russian girls are not supposed to talk that way, but sometimes it can be thrilling to hear a woman talk dirty.”  
She snorted at that.  
“I say yes to one cup of coffee. Just one, and you leave me alone?” She lifted her hand, one finger pointed outward. “Just one!”  
“One cup," he agreed, grabbing her wrist and kissing her hand. "You truly don't know how much this means to me." He stared into her eyes, reaching out with his other hand to caress her cheek. After a moment, she pulled away, and he let her go. "Before you go back inside, I should return your phone to you. And of course, there's the matter of your tip." He pulled the device out of his pocket and opened his wallet. For a moment, he considered giving her a twenty, which put the tip at over fifty percent. However, since she'd finally agreed to meet him, he pulled out another twenty and saw her eyes widen in surprise as he held the two bills out in his hand.  
“For all the hard work you do, have a treat. I hope you have a good night, and I look forward to our meeting.”  
“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Suvorin-”  
“Arkady,” he reminded her. Her chin lifted with a defiant tilt.  
“One cup of coffee is not going to change things between us.”  
“This is going to sound terribly cliché, I know, but… never say never.”  
She scrunched up her nose at him before going back inside, and he chuckled softly to himself before he tugged at the collar of his jacket, retreating into the night.

o0o

Although much of Nadezhda's coursework was online, she still had a class that she had to attend twice a week. There was a Starbucks near campus that the students would hang out in. For a meeting that was supposed to be just one cup of coffee, Nadezhda had put a lot of thought into her outfit. She'd pulled on blue jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a sweatshirt, given that it was a chilly early spring morning.  
The weight of her backpack was reassuring as she approached the building, seeing the familiar mermaid logo and recalling Arkady's comment. Some of the drinks here might be overpriced and/or diabetes-inducing, but Nadezhda had always been able to find a decent option amongst all the fancy drinks, and it was nice to do some reading with a coffee and pastry.  
What the hell had she been thinking? She should have slapped him and told him no, but his very presence overwhelmed her, and to have him in such close proximity as he had been that night… oh, lord. Her nipples had tightened at the memory of that. And his scent… Something primal in her stirred at it, something that she was certain had been phased out in the long process of evolution.  
She would be firm and polite. Thank you for the coffee, but no. She took a deep breath, and almost did a double take as she saw him rise from a bench in the park, just across the street from the Starbucks. He moved like a large cat, powerful and agile as he quickly looked both ways before striding across the street. At the restaurant, he generally wore suits, so she studied him for a moment, noting the black jeans that accentuated the muscle along his legs, and the expensive-looking jacket he wore. His hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he looked like a college student.  
He was in front of her as she was registering these thoughts, and she looked up at him, a faint blush rising in her cheeks. She prayed he did not notice it and turned toward the doors after mumbling a quick 'good morning'. He was agile and practically pounced in front of her to open the door for her.  
The heat of the Starbucks should have been welcome after the crisp air, but she suddenly felt too hot, and acutely aware of Arkady in her peripheral vision as she walked up to the end of the line. There were just two people in front of them, and the line moved quickly.  
Nadezhda had already decided what she would have. "A vanilla chai cappuccino, please." It wasn't something she ordered often, but since it was his treat...  
As she glanced towards the pastry case, she caught the envious glance of one of the baristas, and an appraising look of another one. She glanced back at Arkady, who seemed unaware of the scrutiny he was under as he casually ordered a strong black coffee with chicory. After paying, his hand slid to her back, guiding her to the side of the counter as they waited for their drinks. She swallowed thickly, but he remained silent. When she looked up, he glanced down at her before offering her a gentle smirk. She fixed her eyes forward, determined to resist his charm as she shifted half a step away from him. After their drinks came forward, he guided her to a corner in the back that was relatively clear of people. The table sat in front of a plate glass window, offering them a view of the park and passing cars.  
She settled onto the stool, placing her cup on the table. His hand slid across the table, capturing her free hand before she could pull back.  
“One cup of coffee, that's all I agreed to.” His hand was heavy and warm, and she could feel the strength as the fingers gently squeezed around her own hand. "Then I'm going to go home, and study my Russian." She lifted the cup to her lips, inhaling the scent of the sweet chai.  
“I am more than happy to help you study. I grew up speaking both languages, and you could almost pass for a Russian native, at least in the cities." He tightened his grip a bit before letting go and sipping his own coffee.  
“I'm fine, I have my Rosetta Stone program." Her father had come from Russia as a boy, and she'd spent much of her childhood around Russian-speaking relatives. Unlike her cousins and many members of the younger generation, Nadezhda used and studied Russian consistently instead of letting it fall in disuse. She considered being an interpreter or translator but knew she'd need to study a few more languages for a better job.  
“No, no, no." He spoke in Russian now. "The best teacher is a native speaker, which is what I am. You could also visit Russia with me, and enjoy the best that Moscow, Arkhangelsk, and Vladivostok have to offer. I've also studied Mandarin, Polish and Ukrainian."  
She blinked at him. He had effectively shifted himself into a position where she could not deny that he would be a great help. But what would he demand in exchange for that help?  
"Damnit. This was just supposed to be one cup of coffee," she grumbled. He smirked at her, and she took several more sips of her chai, turning so her side was to him and fuming internally.  
"There, I finished my cup. Now I need to go study." Lame excuse, she knew, but the Russian's steely gaze had her loins tingling, and she needed to remove herself from his presence and steady her nerves.  
“Not so fast. I said we needed to have a talk. I thought I'd let you finish your cup, you looked like you were enjoying it.”  
She looked back at him. “Spit it out then.”  
“No need to be so rude, Nadezhda." He placed his hand over his heart in a mock-dramatic gesture. "I am here to offer my help. You know how I feel about you. I want to take care of you."  
“I don't need a sugar daddy!”  
“A sugar what...” Arkady paused at that American expression.  
“Sugar daddy," Nadezhda said in English before switching back to Russian, "a man who keeps a woman." And she would not be a kept woman.  
“What if I were to pay for your college education?”  
She opened her mouth, but could not speak.  
“All of it, and books, whatever else you might need.”  
“That's a lot of money.”  
He smiled faintly and shrugged. “I am a man of considerable means. You suffered an extremely cruel twist of fate, your savings gambled away by a man who should have been protecting his daughter.”  
Her cheeks warmed in indignation, and she started to frown. “That really is none of your-”  
“Hush and listen. I am trying to help you, damnit-”  
“This does not come without strings attached.” He wouldn't just hand her the money and be on his way out of the goodness of his heart. That only happened in fairy tales.  
“This is one reason I like you. Not only are you hardworking but smart. And I think what I want… what you know I want… is not too much to ask for in exchange for such generosity.”  
“So I would be selling myself to you,” she replied, deciding to not mince words.  
“Not selling. Don't insult me by putting it in such sordid terms. Pride is a good thing to have, but you're too damn stubborn for your own good. You were robbed, and you would deny me a chance to make it right, and what's more, offer you my protection and further support?”  
She stared at him, seeing a storm of emotions in his gaze. The muscles in his jaw tightened, and he tilted his head slightly. The face that she knew she would never forget for the rest of her life burned itself in her vision.  
“What if you had a chance to walk away with the money?” he asked. She raised her eyebrow.  
“Give me seven minutes to give you an orgasm. I succeed, and you become mine. You win, and I pay for your schooling… what is that expression, fair and square?”  
She was glad the conversation had been in Russian so that the other patrons here couldn't understand them if they chanced to overhear. Had she just been offered a gamble which included him doing… whatever he could to make her cum? Damned if she wasn't actually getting aroused at the thought of him going down on her…  
“So let me be sure I understand this. I give you seven minutes to make me orgasm. If I win, I get paid and you leave me alone. If I lose, I become your…” She paused as she tried to think of a suitable description for herself.  
“Lyubovnik.” Lover.  
“Oh." The reality sat before her as she considered her options. Between tuition, insurance, and rent, she was fucking poor. And would be for a while with the way things were going. Dad really had left her fucking nothing, she was lucky that she hadn't been forced to pay what remained of his gambling debts after the house and life insurance had been claimed by his debtors. Uncle Boris had only had part of his loan to his younger brother recouped, and Nadezhda knew he was bitter over that.  
“Seven minutes. I would spread you wide and pleasure you. I would taste all of you, and your climax would be exquisite." His voice rumbled out along her spine, causing her stomach to twist in a knot.  
It was as if a hot finger had slid up inside of her. Her pussy was throbbing now, and she looked down in her empty cup.  
“Would you like another one? Or a pastry?” he asked in a friendly tone.  
“No, I just need to be getting home.”  
“I can give you a ride home if you like."  
She looked back up at him. “Stop being so… nice!”  
He grinned. “No.” He sat back, regarding her with a more serious expression. “I know you're attracted to me. I see it in your blush and shy glances. I don't know why you won't give me a chance. I would treat you like a princess-”  
“I am not a princess. I am a tsaritsa.” Queen. Ever since she was a little girl, she hadn't been as interested in princesses as other girls had been, including the Disney ones. Real-life queens interested her more, and not just Elizabeth or Victoria.  
...And if Arkady was going to give her a pet name, she'd have a damn good one.  
“You would be my queen, Nadezhda.”  
She crossed her arms and stared at him. He stared back at her calmly, and she could swear she saw a ghost of a smirk. “I think it's a fine gamble… you win something either way.”  
She knew she should get up and leave Starbucks in a huff. But it was clear to both of them that this was indeed a tempting proposition. To have her financial difficulties become a thing of the past…  
“Come, tsaritsa. This has gone on long enough, hm? You've been through so much in your life, why not accept something good that comes your way?”  
She studied his features. The strong jaw, the almost-aquiline nose, the slightly-curved lips… Her eyes moved down to his hands. They were large and strong, and she knew the palms would be thick with calluses, but his hands were still finely-formed, with well-kept nails. As he regarded her attention, his hand slowly slid across the table to her own. She regarded it silently, making no move to pull away as his fingers slid on top of her own.  
He shifted their hands so that his own was face up, with her palm pressed against his. Despite Arkady's almost-impeccable grooming and wardrobe habits, the thick skin along his palm and fingers told her that he was no stranger to hard work. Almost without thinking, she lightly traced the lines of his hand with a fingernail, and he remained silent through this, stretching out his fingers to better allow this impromptu kindness.

o0o

God! Just the feel of her nail delicately sliding along his palm had him half-hard within his jeans. He fought the urge to tease or coax her and simply basked in this unexpected attention. He imagined her nail tracing around his nipple… along his stomach… up and down his shaft, or lightly tickling his balls. He shifted around as his manhood pulsed.  
After a minute, he brought his other hand on top of hers, squeezing it between his palms. "Your touch..." He paused, and she looked up at him. The somewhat harsh lighting of the Starbucks illuminated the pinkness of her cheeks. "Nadezhda." He stared into her eyes, adding velvet to his voice. "Come with me and we can settle this once and for all, hmm?"  
Mutely, she nodded.


End file.
